


Quickie Council Meeting

by Whatwefightfor



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, inspired by that one line of dialogue, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 13:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16242410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatwefightfor/pseuds/Whatwefightfor
Summary: Makoto would normally be thinking about her studies, or whether Sae will be home in time for dinner, or the next Yakuza film. Instead, she’s thinking about her boyfriend, and all the things she wants to do to him. Because a side effect of broadening her horizons is that she craves new stimuli on the regular, apparently.





	Quickie Council Meeting

            Makoto is quite familiar with Akira’s schedule.

            This is not, as one might presume, because they’re currently dating. While that’s as good a reason as any, she supposes, the ugly truth is that she’s had it memorized for a while. Since early May, in fact, which makes that…four months ahead of their first date.

            Yikes.

            It’s not like there were _other_ students with such a strong case for being a Phantom Thief. Her investigation, while decidedly low-tech, was thorough – and in her defense, following him around _did_ yield results.

            _Many_ , _unforeseen_ results.

            For one thing, she went from trying to expose a vigilante group to actively co-leading that same vigilante group.

            For another thing, she went from a cloistered honor student, with next to no romantic experience, to starting a relationship – with the school’s most infamous delinquent – by _faking it as a psyop._

And, now that said relationship is real (she honestly can’t believe it sometimes, they’re _real_ and _serious_ ), her lack of romantic experience has been…remedied.

            Which means, at times when Makoto would normally be thinking about her studies, or whether Sae will be home in time for dinner, or the next Yakuza film, instead she’s thinking about her _boyfriend_ , and all the things she wants to do to him. Because a side effect of broadening her horizons is that she craves new stimuli on the regular, apparently.

            Case in point, it’s rather useful to have Akira’s schedule memorized. For instance, Makoto knows that they’ll pass each other exactly twice most days of the week: once on the way to lunch break and again switching afternoon classes. And, thanks to Phantom Thief meetings, she knows the first is more opportune for passing information, and the second is better for skipping class.

            So, just before he’s whisked off to lunch by the crowd of other second-years, Makoto catches his elbow and pulls him aside. His look of surprise fades when their eyes meet.

            “Hey,” Akira rasps. “What’s up? I thought third-years didn’t eat till the next block.”

            “It’s not that,” says Makoto. She beckons him closer, bracing on his shoulder to stand on her toes and whisper in his ear. “Can you get out of class this afternoon?”

            He blinks. “Probably. Is this about a target?”

            “Mm-mm. Not today.” Propositioning sex hasn’t gotten any less awkward. She gathers her courage and leans closer. “Let’s do it in the student council room.”

            Akira looks at her askance, then smirks. “Okay.”

            Raising an eyebrow, Makoto pulls back. “That’s it? You could at least blush.”

            “You’re the one who says I never get flustered.” He reaches up and boops her on the nose, grinning. “Besides, you’re blushing enough for both of us, Your Majesty.”

            “Well, I –” Her face feels hot. If she was already blushing, now she’s blushing deeper. “I’ll just have to fix that, won’t I?”

            Akira dials up his grin to full Joker level, sending shivers down her spine. “Bring it.”

            That’s it. Glancing around to see if anyone’s looking, Makoto darts in and kisses his jaw, weaving around him before he can retaliate. “ _Try_ not to be late.”

            Was that a hitch in his breath? Her mind must be playing tricks. “Alright, alright,” he chuckles, then looks her dead in the eyes, voice dropping an octave. “Be seeing you.”

            Just like that, he’s off, and her legs are jelly.

            The next three classes are a blur, full of squirming in her seat and staring at the clock. It’s impossible to focus. Makoto wonders if this was a bad idea. She also wonders if Akira’s as distracted as she is. Why does the wait have to be so _long?_

When the second-to-last bell rings, she’s out of her seat with almost frighteningly manic energy. Nearly colliding with a student on the way to the door, she stammers an apology as she heads for the stairs. She’s got to beat him to the council room.

            Makoto makes good time and fishes her keys out of her schoolbag, unlocking the back entrance and slipping in before anyone notices. The partition blinds are all closed, and she’s the only person who uses the room this late in the day. Or, you know, _ever._

She has just enough time to set down her things and straighten her headband when there’s a rap on the door. Akira steps in, closing it softly behind him.

            “Long time no see,” he says.

            “You’re positive you weren’t followed?” Makoto demands.

            He nods.

            “Good,” she says briskly, walking back to the door. “Sit down, Kurusu-kun.”

            Akira gives her a once-over before catching on. He smiles and sits at the table, setting down his bags – which _don’t_ include Morgana, by the way. Let it never be said that he doesn’t give his cat fair warning. “You…asked to see me, Niijima-senpai?”

            Makoto locks the door, fixing him with a stern look. “ _You’ve_ been diverting me from my studies. I think disciplinary action may be in order, but I could be convinced otherwise.”

            “I see,” he says. “And how might I convince you?”

            “For a start, you can stay right where you are.” Setting the key on the table, Makoto moves to stand just behind his chair. He turns, wondering what she’s up to, but Makoto snaps her fingers in front of his nose. “Eyes forward. “

            Suppressing a snicker, Akira obeys. “Yes, my Queen.”

            “ _You’re_ awfully familiar,” she says, and by her tone she’s smiling. Her fingers card through his hair. “About due for a haircut, too.” She slides her free hand down his shoulder to his chest.

            It’s only a few seconds before Akira has to fight to keep his eyes open. “Mm. That feels nice.”

            As he starts to relax, Makoto drags her nails along his scalp and gets a hank of hair in her fist. She pulls his head back – careful not to cause him _too_ much pain – and Akira stifles a gasp.

            “Oh?” she muses. “So, that _is_ something you like.” Leaning down, Makoto trails her hand down his chest to his thigh, starting a line of wet kisses from his neck to his ear. “Listen. I want to sit on your lap.”

            Akira nods, a faint hiss escaping between his teeth as she lets go. He waits for her to move aside and pushes his chair back, leaving ample space between him and the table.

            Makoto smooths her skirt and straddles him, hands on his shoulders to steady herself. He puts a guiding hand on her back, then settles both on her hips, pulling her closer.

            She jabs a finger into his sternum. “Did I say you could touch?”

            “Didn’t know I was waiting on permission.” Akira slides his hands up her sides to cup her breasts, angling his hips up to grind against the cleft of her legs. “Besides, ‘s only so long I can play nice –”

            Grabbing his chin, Makoto silences him with a kiss, rough and greedy. She moves her hips with his, pushing her tongue into his mouth. Her fingers work at the buttons of her vest, and then set about opening her shirt.

            Akira’s hands chase her skin, drawing his thumbs down the edges of her stomach as he grabs her hips _hard._ Makoto moans and bites his lower lip, then pulls away.

            “Pantyhose,” she gasps. “Boots.”

            “Right.” Before she can get off him, Akira hooks his hands under her thighs and lifts her up, staggering to his feet and carefully setting her down on the table. She yelps, swatting him on the arm, and bursts into giggles, pulling her legs up to yank off her boots.

            “Make yourself useful,” she says, “And get my bag.”

            Giving her thighs a squeeze, Akira reaches to the end of the table and picks up the bag, setting it down next to her.

            Makoto’s boots are on the floor, and as she shimmies out of her pantyhose she unzips the front pocket on the bag and pulls out a little foil-wrapped square, which she sets aside. “There we go.” That leaves only her skirt, which she doesn’t take off, instead lifting the hem teasingly. “Now, where were we?”

            “Doesn’t matter. I know where I _want_ to be.” Akira grins and slips his hand under her skirt, tracing circles up her thighs until his fingertips brush through a patch of stubble and settle on her clit, flexing gently.

“Sorry, I – _ah!_ – didn’t have time to shave,” Makoto murmurs, wrapping her arms around his neck to draw him closer.

            “You know I don’t mind a bit of bush.” Akira brings his fingers to his lips, makes a show of licking them up and down, and then slips them inside her, slowly. He savors every shudder and shake as her hands tighten on the back of his blazer. “ _Really_ wet, Makoto.”

            She tugs at his blazer. “I _know_ ; why isn’t this _off–?”_

            It only takes a moment to extricate himself and shrug out of it, and Makoto practically rips his shirt open while he’s occupied, trailing her hands up his body. She maps his muscles for two full heartbeats, and then his fingers are back and they _curl_ and she goes rigid, digging her nails into his skin.

            Akira chuckles, breathy and low, just like in the hallway. “You’re sensitive today.”

            “You kept me waiting,” she says breathlessly, and moves her hand to cup him through his pants.

            In response, he moves his fingers, this time arching his thumb to circle her clit, and Makoto edges her hips forward, fumbling with the zipper of his pants.

            “You got that?” he asks, making no effort to hide his amusement.

            She blows out her cheeks. “It’s our first quickie. Give me a break.” Her nail catches on the zipper and she pinches it, dragging it down and popping the button.

            Another heady thrust of his fingers has her seeing stars, but she manages to grab his waistband – both of them – and pull down his pants, exposing his cock to the air.

            Akira makes an indistinct noise, and it’s all the opportunity she needs to shove him back and scoot off the table, landing on her feet. She makes eye contact, drops to her knees, and wraps her hand around him.

            Makoto pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and strokes him once, up and down, before gripping his base and taking him into her mouth. He has to bite down on his fist to smother a groan, bracing himself on her shoulder. She gives a little _hmm_ of appreciation and pulls off him with a sinfully wet noise, running her tongue up the underside and pressing a kiss to his head.

            “Ready?” she asks.

            “Y-yeah,” Akira says, his self-control wavering. “Chair or table?”

            “I wanna ride you,” says Makoto. “So, chair.”

            A compelling argument. He sits down.

            Makoto plucks the condom off the table and tears the wrapper, then kneels again to hover over his cock.

            Akira reaches for it. “Here–”

            She smacks his hand away. “I’ve got it.” With practiced motion, she pinches the end, unrolls it down his length, and stands up to admire her handiwork. “Not too tight?”

            “Nope.”

            “Good.” Makoto straddles him, just as before, and guides him in with one hand, sliding down his length and engulfing him in tight heat.

            Akira throws his head back, exhaling hard, as she settles on her haunches, taking him as far as she can. He looks up at her, pupils blown wide, and rests his hand on her cheek, pulling her in for another kiss.

            Makoto makes a low noise in the back of her throat and begins moving her hips, first bouncing, then grinding back and forth, then a bit of both, settling into a rhythm she likes. Both of her hands find their way into his hair.

            For his part, Akira tilts his hips up to match her, searching for better purchase so he can properly thrust. He scrabbles at the clasp of her bra, unhooking it and letting it fall away to bend down and kiss her chest, dragging his tongue to her nipple and taking it between his lips.

            “Fuck – Akira,” Makoto moans, arching her back. She’s almost _too_ sensitive there, and he _knows_ that.

            Then he thrusts _up_ and her legs almost give out, something molten and heady blazing up her spine.

            Akira kisses from her breasts to her neck, sinking in his teeth and licking over the bite. “Makoto,” he says into her skin. “You feel so good.”

            “Right there,” she praises. “Don’t stop, don’t stop –”

            His hands drop to her hips, _pulling_ her down with each bounce. She can feel herself stretching around him as he pumps in and out, hitting all the right spots with _delicious_ friction. If this keeps up – if this keeps up, she’s not going to last.

            Makoto curls her hand around the back of his neck and grabs him by the hair, pulling him back and herself up. Akira’s hips stutter, and she sits up off his lap, until all that’s inside of her is the very tip of his cock.

            “Eyes on me,” she says fiercely, and plunges back down.

            Akira _moans,_ his hands desperately gripping her thighs, and bites his lip, squirming for another angle – _any_ angle – that doesn’t make him lose control.

            A hand splays on his chest, heavy, pinning him in place. “I want to hear you,” Makoto says, in that smoldering voice, and pulls up for another long thrust.

            “ _Fucking_ fuck,” he groans as she bottoms out. “You’re so…”

            “Yeah?” She bounces faster, chasing that white-hot tension. “That feel good?”

            “God, yes…” Akira finds her hips and starts guiding her down again, angling himself to meet her _just_ right. “Makoto–!”

            “I’m close,” Makoto says. “Kiss me–”

            Akira’s lips crash into hers and lightning courses through her body. Makoto seizes up, shaking uncontrollably, moaning into his mouth as she comes, _hard._ Akira pulls away, letting her breathe, slowing down to just rock his hips gently.

As the last tremors wrack her frame, he sucks in a breath and rests his forehead against hers.

            “Makoto,” he says shakily. “I’m gonna–”

            “It’s okay,” she whispers. “Do it. Come for me, Akira.”

            With one last thrust, Akira buries his face in her shoulder and shudders, his cock twitching and pulsing inside of her. Even with the condom on, Makoto feels a vague warmth, and she lets her eyes drift closed as his breathing evens out.

            Akira leans back to look at her, her eyes soft, face flushed, smiling gently down at him. He smiles back, reaching up to straighten her headband. “You’re so beautiful. I _tried_ to say it, but you were riding me too hard.”

            Makoto laughs a little, leaning in for a quick kiss. “That’s a good thing, right?”

            “That’s a _very_ good thing.” He brushes his thumb across her cheek and over her lips.

            She lets her tongue dart out and catch his thumb, turning her head to suck it into her mouth. “Mm. Later, okay? The final bell’s gonna ring soon.”

            Akira shrugs. “Can’t get up if you don’t get off me.”

            Makoto turns red. “Right. S-sorry.” She stands on uncertain legs, then carefully sits on the table to begin pulling on her pantyhose and boots. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Akira collect himself, button his fly and shirt, and dispose of the condom and its wrapper.

            She’s just secured her bra when he turns around, and she can’t hold back a snort. “Your fly’s still unzipped!”

            Flinching, Akira scrambles to zip it up, then looks around frantically for his blazer.

            “Over here,” says Makoto, and hands it to him, then returns to buttoning her vest.

            Akira pushes his glasses up his nose. “How do I look? Presentable?”

            She fixes him with a discerning look. “Yes. Yes, I think so.” Looking down at herself, she slides off the table onto her feet. “How about me?”

            “Immaculate. _Somehow._ ” He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close, nipping at her earlobe. “Makes me want to mess you up.”

            “Mh…Akira, we really have to go.” Makoto gathers his collar in her fist and gently pushes him back. “ _Later._ And that means no getting fresh on the subway.”

            Akira grins. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’m right behind you.”


End file.
